When I step out
into the great beauty of evening
then in the faultless sky and trees
the whole of life is reconciled.
All its toiling issues
the slow traffic flow becomes,
my easy walking pace
marking the tempo of the twilight.
Vision is harboured in
perspectives and shades,
the high trees, huddled bushes;
the hesitating black cat.
Curving round the block
imagination’s path is already home;
the locus is here,
where mud and leaves develop.
How far removed
from the blaring of the nations
claiming a day, void
of all but metaphor.